


Muddy

by Moosebrawn



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: F/M, c'mon quil seriously, it's really not that funny, jacob imprints on a dog(?), other shapeshifters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 00:37:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5949444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moosebrawn/pseuds/Moosebrawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So you're Jacob Black. You've got a major crush on that Bella girl and a fever of 103. Things are about to get interesting. Especially when you meet the neighbor's dog.</p>
<p>Oh yeah. Things are about to get interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The dog

One might think your troubles started with turning into a large, shaggy wolf - and, in a way, that  _is_ what set all this into motion. But you're strangely okay with being a werewolf. Next up might be Bella Swan being hunted by that crazy vampire, but really, no big deal. It's a bit of work to keep her safe, but nothing can get through the solid wall of wolf that makes up your pack. Not even your seriously agonizing crush on Bella is that big of a deal.

It all started with the dog.

 

 

You're sitting at Emily's dining-room table with Bella-freaking-Swan lounging happily by your side. She's not quite your girlfriend, but no one else seemed to notice that, despite sharing your mind every time you put on your fur. And really, what does it matter? She's your best friend, after all. You'd do anything for her, even if that means just  _waiting_ while she pines for her bloodsucking ex.

So you don't get to make out with her. Whatever. In the meantime, you enjoy the self-satisfied smirk that crosses her face as she wins  _another_ round of poker - you're not sure if it's her fear of losing or her new-found skill at deception, but she's been on a roll all night.

"You're a witch," Paul mutters as he pulls off another sock and flings it across the table. Bella picks it up between her thumb and index finger, clearly a little disgusted.

"You're bad at poker," she says simply as she pulls it onto her left foot - over Embry and Jared's socks.

You're glad you folded this round. You're not yet down to your skivvies, as Paul is, but you hadn't been wearing many clothes in the first place, when this game had started. That was the benefit of getting dealt bad hands, you suppose. At least it kept you playing safe.

"Maybe you should throw in the towel before you end up naked," you suggest, throwing your arm around Bella's bare shoulders. She's down to tank top and Quil's over-sized shorts, plus the strange collection of socks on her feet. Faring better than all but Leah, whose steely resolve seemed to force its will on the cards. Also, you're pretty sure she's cheating, but definitely not prepared to call her out on it.

"I think we all better call it a night," Sam says from his place in the corner of the room. "Emily went to bed hours ago, and I'm tired of playing ref."

"Not that you're doing a great job, anyway," Bella mutters under her breath, shooting Leah a resentful look. The normally moody girl responds only with a smile, a mark of how far they'd come in their friendship. When Leah'd first changed, she'd been almost as temperamental as Paul. Now, she was just sullen - especially when Sam was around. But little by little, that was disappearing, and you're getting to know the  _real_ Leah.

She's pretty cool, all things considered. Almost as cool as Bella. Almost.

The party dissipates - everyone trades back their clothing - and you drag Bella outside yelling birthday wishes to Embry over your shoulder. Bella sighs a happy sigh, and the two of you walk hand-in-hand down the lane, enjoying the unseasonable warmth of the night. Well,  _she_ is, at least. You're enjoying thoughts of her sneaking into your bed late a night, complaining of the same nightmares she always has. Nothing ever  _happens_ , but a guy can dream. And  _you_ dream, often, of things going farther than a bit of cuddling and a peck on the cheek. That's why you wake up long before her - always - and treat yourself to a cold shower.

"I can't wait until this whole Victoria thing is over," she sighs, though there's little worry behind the words. "I'll get to sleep in a bed every night."

Your heartbeat picks up a little bit. "You  _do_ , you know," you remind her, cheeks heating just a little bit.

"I know, but I don't start out there. I try and suffer through the couch, first," she reminds you.

"Well -  _don't_ ," you suggest. She shoots you a look out of the corner of her eye, and you're not quick enough to catch it. But it feels strange to hold her hand, now, and you drop it as soon as you find an excuse - opening the front door, for example. "Night, Bells," you say, not meeting her eye. She murmurs her own well-wishes and heads to the bathroom, probably to take her nightly shower - she tries to save the hot water for you in the morning, not knowing that you like yours icy. Well,  _like_ is a strong word.

It's late. Late enough that Dad is already snoring in his own room, and late enough that  _your_ room is cast in deep shadow. Your eyes see right through it, being well-adapted for the dark, but you still stub your toe on the dresser. A sleepy swear breaks the silence as you lurch toward your bed, curling up on top of the covers rather than lying underneath. Your body temperature is high enough that it doesn't matter in the dead of winter, and the warm spring air is drifting through your open window, already lulling you to sleep. You're nearly there when a commotion outside makes your eyes snap open.

There it is again. Another distant clash, a loud clang. You sit up and scrub at your eyes, not too worried about it. Probably just a raccoon getting into the garbage again. Nothing alarming, but something you'd better go and put a stop to, if you don't want a mess to clean up tomorrow.

So you amble past the bathroom, where Bella is only just turning off the water, and past your dad's door, behind which he is still snoring rather loudly. The front door shuts with a creak and a soft  _snap_ behind you, and you try to ignore the unpleasant prickling of the gravel underneath your feet as you make your way down the drive. Sure enough, you see something dark and shadowy rooting around in the up-turned garbage can. Problem is, that shadow's way too big to be a raccoon.

"Hey! Get out of here!" you hiss, not one to be put off by a stray. And you  _know_ it's a stray. No one lets their dog run around smelling that rank and wild, after all. And you know it's a dog, because, duh, if you can smell that it's stray you can definitely smell that it's a dog. A female dog, no less, who seems to be approaching her prime, even if she's a little undernourished.

Your new-and-improved nose is one of the cooler things about being a werewolf. Another cool thing is that most animals have a natural wariness of you, so you don't have to worry about bears or raccoons or stray dogs anymore. Nothing sane is going to attack you, and nothing _insane_ is going to be able to take you down.

This dog, though. She doesn't seem all that impressed. She stops her digging and backs out of your trash can, tail wagging in a friendly kind of way as she lets out a plaintive whine.  _Sorry about that_ , she seems to be saying, her lithe, shaggy body held close to the ground in supplication.  _A girl's gotta eat, though._

"Alright, doggy, you're forgiven," you chuckle, secretly a little pleased with her fearlessness. It's cool not to have to worry about being attacked by bears, but you'd  _liked_ dogs before all this. It's nice to know they're not  _all_ gonna run if they catch your scent. So at first, you don't mind when she slinks a little closer with a questioning yap. Almost like -  _But I'm still hungry. Help me out?_ And you're about to do it, too. About to open your home and refrigerator to this friendly, fearless mutt.

And then you get caught in her eyes. Yes,  _caught_. Thoroughly entangled. There's a short second where everything blurs as your life rearranges itself, and this  _dog_ fills that gaps that you'd never even realized you had. That space Bella had cleared out for herself and then left vacant, waiting? Filled. The deep, deep rift your sisters left in their wake? Filled. The grave your mother dug in your heart the day she died? Filled. The gaping wound that had been gouged into your psyche during your first transformation? Filled. Overflowing with the knowledge that  _this dog_ is the reason you've suffered through so much, the reason you skin turns to fur, the reason you  _breathe_.

This dog.

"Holy shit," you mutter, stumbling back. The dog tilts her head to the side, tail still wagging halfheartedly as she watches you sink to your knees. You get a vague impression of concern and amusement, but no words to go with it, this time. It's all just your imagination, anyway, because this is a  _dog_. You'd been able to smell that from the beginning, and it doesn't change now that you've  _imprinted_ on her.

Dear god. You've imprinted. On her. On a dog.

Your life is over.


	2. Nelly

The dog is  _hungry_. You'd brought her inside after what felt like hours of deliberation, but it really had to have been just a few minutes since Bella was just coming out of the bathroom when you opened the door. You're glad the dog was there to distract her, because you're not sure how you could've pretended to be normal right then. She ran right up to your new friend, though, so that didn't end up mattering.

Ten minutes ago, there was a full plate of leftover meatloaf from two nights before. Somehow, you hadn't gotten to it yet - probably because you'd been out for most of the past week - so you decided there were worse places it could go than the mouth of your hungry new soulmate. (Thoughts like that are going to get you in trouble - at some point, Bella is bound to notice how you flinch at random moments.) So you got it out and started feeding it to her bit by bit, and now, the plate is nearly empty.

"Poor puppy-dog," Bella croons, petting the dog between her floppy ears. "How long do you think it's been since she'd eaten?"

You look at her protruding ribs and her dry, scabby nose. She'd smelled undernourished outside, but inside, in close quarters, she smells a little more like  _starved_. Not too healthy, either. You can smell old, open wounds, but she's covered in mud from head to foot. It's impossible to tell where she might be hurt, or even what color her fur should be. Right now, all you can say about her is she's brown and skinny, and one ear sticks up more than the other. Her ambiguous bill of health worries you more than you want to let on.

"Awhile," you say.

Bella isn't even paying attention. She's on her knees on your kitchen floor, feeding the dog your meatloaf bite-by-bite. "Do you wanna come home with me?" she asks in a sweet, high voice. A part of you is a little offended on the dog's behalf, but you're mostly just freaked out that Bella's thinking about taking her away. "Huh? Do you want me to take you home and make you all fat and healthy?"

The dog, for her part, seems pleased with the attention. Whenever Bella speaks, the dog yaps in response, answering affirmative to her every question. "Are you a hungry girl?"  _Yes!_ "Do you wanna come meet Charlie?"  _I do!_ "You're such a pretty dog, aren't you?"  _I am!_

Soon enough, the plate is completely gone, and Bella is gently coaxing the dog toward the couch. ("Come on, girl, bedtime!") She eventually gets the dog to lie down under the coffee table, and lies down herself on the made-up couch.

And you return to your room, remembering - belatedly - that you'd wondered if she might skip the couch altogether and fall asleep in your arms. Just a few short hours ago, things had looked pretty promising in that department. The two of you have been getting closer for weeks, and you'd been trying to give her time and space, but things had been progressing well enough on their own. And  _tonight_ - 

You'd had high hopes. Now? You just feel  _weird_. Like, there's still a very large and active part of your psyche that is still fixated on getting Bella into your bed. That part hasn't changed at all - in fact, you think this happening has added a bit of weight to that bungee cord of emotion and hormones. But there's another part of you warring for dominance, now. The part that woke up the first time you put on your fur - it'd been easy to deal with before. The wolf was pleased by simple things; running, hunting, the woods, the pack. Now it was pacing inside of you, thinking and worrying and whining about  _the dog_.

Bella's dog, by the looks of things. You lie back in bed, wondering if Bella will take her with when she finally returns to her home. If it'll be that simple - if you can survive this whole  _imprint_ thing if you only ever know her as  _Bella's dog_.

There don't seem to be many other options.

***

 You're woken up early the next morning by the sound of Leah's chiming laughter.

"Wow, she must be starving!"

"Yeah, she ate a whole plate of leftover meatloaf last night, but I figured she'd be hungry again in the morning. Thanks for bringing this over," Bella replies, accompanied by the tinkling sound of something being poured into a bowl. "Do you think we should just keep refilling it until she stops eating?"

"I'd give her a little bit before the next bowl. She'll probably eat 'til she bursts if she can."

You sit up and rub at your eyes, your feet moving on their own accord as the need to check up on your imprint overwhelms you. When you get to the front room, it's to find Bella and Leah sitting on the floor with the dog between them, eating dog-food out of a metal bowl.

"Don't feed her that shit," you say at once, inordinately angry about the whole thing. There's nothing really wrong with giving a dog  _dog-food_ , but this is your imprint, and there's something very wrong with your supposed 'soulmate' eating kibble out of a dog bowl. You swipe the bowl away from her and set it on the counter before digging a pack of raw meat out of the 'fridge. Bella and Leah are staring at you incredulously when you turn around, but you ignore them and tear off a chunk for your excited houseguest. She's prancing around your feet, her whole body wriggling with the ferocity of her tail-wags.

"Here you go," you say, holding out the meat for her inspection. Her scabby nose bumps it once, twice before she snaps it up in her long, toothy muzzle.

"I don't think I can manage that," Bella murmurs, sounding a little queasy. "At my house, Nelly eats dog-food."

"Nelly?" you ask, trying and quickly failing to apply the name to the dog.

"Yeah. She's a character from Wurthering Heights," she says happily, running a hand down the dog's mud-encrusted back.

Nelly gives her a placating lick on the cheek before turning back to you, waiting for more food. You happily tear off another chunk, and she takes it more delicately this time before swallowing it whole. After that, she cleans the blood off your fingers with her slimy tongue and pads over by Lead to lap water out of another metal bowl. There's a Petsmart shopping bag nearby, with rope toys and dog treats hanging out of it. Cool dread works its way through your veins as you take it all in.

Bella's dog. Nelly. When this Victoria business is over, she'll leave with Bella to live in Forks. Too far from you. Not far enough.

"Your watch is about to start," Leah reminds him as the two of them start digging through the bag, Bella producing a bottle of flea shampoo and Leah a smart black collar. You flee before you can puke all over the kitchen floor, unable to imagine what things will be like when everyone knows -

And they  _will_ know. You can't keep this secret forever, not with the way the pack mind works. In fact, if there's anyone else in their fur right now, they're going to be in for a rude awakening.

Thankfully, you're on duty alone this morning. The she-leech hasn't shown her face in weeks, and Sam's starting to feel a little less paranoid about her. During the day, only one wolf is usually on patrol at a time. You quickly pick up Paul's scent and pick up where he left off, going in three circles around the rez before you end up in the woods behind Emily's house, nose twitching as the wind blows the dog's scent toward you.

Unable to stay away, you pad around to the backyard, where Bella is busy trying to wrestle  _Nelly_ into a large metal basin. They'd both covered in mud and soap bubbles, to the vast amusement of Jared, Embry, and Quil. The three wolves all quickly note your presence, but Bella is oblivious until Nelly jerks herself away and darts across the unfenced yard to hide behind you. She barks almost tauntingly as Bella moves to follow and then stops short when she sees you standing there, twice the size of Nelly, who is already a large dog.

"Jake?" Bella laughs, moving forward again. You can smell the anxiety rolling off her, but you've gotten used to that. Bella isn't scared of you, but she'd be insane not to be intimidated by your wolf form.

Nelly barks again and warns her off with a feinting lunge, her wagging tail negating the aggressiveness of the action. Still, Bella seems to give up as she wipes her hands off on her pants and goes to rinse them under the running hose. She mutters something about dogs, but you miss it. Most of your attention is focused on Nelly, who - having bested the Wicked Witch of Bathtime, is attempting to play with you.

It's difficult to play with something half your size - you can't do the same kinds of things you'd normally do with Jared or Paul or even Seth, the smallest of the pack. So you lie down on your belly and attempt to pin her with your paws when she comes too near. She's quick, but it's clear she wants to tussle when she physically throws herself at you and begins mouthing at your face and neck. You try to ward her off, pushing her down with a foreleg, but she persists, wriggling closer until she's on her back, her head butting up against your chest and her back paws kicking at your chin.

"Woof," she says, going limp as you finally succeed in immobilizing her.  _You win_.  _I give up._

 _Good dog_ , you reply, sweeping your tongue across her cheek.

Across the yard, Quil and Embry burst into catcalls and laughter. Jared is the first to say it - "Ooh, Jake's got a girlfriend!"

Your two best friends soon take up the cry: "Jake and Nelly sitting in a tree, l-i-c-k-i-n-g!"

 _If only they knew_ , you think darkly.


	3. Alligator

You dad is awake when you get back to the house, still fuming about the silly song. He takes one look at you and starts frying up some bacon, allowing you to flop onto the couch and feel sorry for yourself for a while. When he rolls over with a full plate - burned to a crisp the way you like it - you heave a tried sigh and shake your head. "I'm not really hungry," you mutter. He just looks at you, silent and judgmental.

"Fine."

You take the plate and dig in, almost glad that he'd pushed because  _hey_ , how can you  _not_ be hungry?

"Bad morning?" he asks as you shove the last piece into your mouth. He chuckles at your emphatic nod. "I figured. The kitchen floor is covered in dirt. No good day starts off like that."

You swallow the lump that just formed in your throat and say, "We found a dog last night. She was pretty dirty. I'll clean it up."

He stares at you some more, eyes narrowing with each passing second. "There's something different about you," he says after a moment of speculation. The look of horror on your face makes him grin. "I knew it!" he laughed, clapping you on the shoulder. "I knew you had it in you - she just needed time to see it."

Thoroughly confused, you simply nod your head. Billy laughs again, rolling toward the phone.

"Wait until Charlie hears about this - he'll be thrilled!"

"Wait 'til - Dad,  _no_!" you snap, yanking the phone out of his hands and hanging it back on the wall. "It's not that. Nothing about Bella."

"Then what is it?" he demands, searching your face for answers. Comprehension dawns more quickly than you can fathom. "Oh, Jake," he says, looking happy and sad at the same time. "You - you've imprinted? That's wonderful. Who is it? Does Bella know?"

"No, she  _doesn't_ , and you can't tell her," you say quickly, heart pounding. How did he know? Would everyone be able to tell? "This is a disaster," you mutter, rubbing irritably at your eyes. They are  _not_ beginning to water. No way in hell.

"Jake, imprinting is a beautiful thing," Bill admonishes, rolling toward you and patting your arm. "I know it'll be tough on Bella, but she's your friend and she'll understand. You can help it, can you? I think she'll be happy for you, even if... she'd hoped for something more."

She wouldn't be happy for you. You know that already - no one will be happy about this. It's strange and - quite frankly - terrifying to think that your lives can be altered so drastically with one little look. And it's silly to think of anything as  _unnatural_ after finding out you're a werewolf, but this goes beyond that. It goes beyond magic and tradition. It's  _wrong_. Wrong that this can happen, that the tribal council would endorse it. You wonder what they'll say now, now that imprinting has led to such a taboo pairing. Now that it's not Sam and his girlfriend's cousin, or Quil and a two-year old girl. Those had been  _questionable_ , but the pack's ability to see into each other's minds had prevented any real drama. In time, it would all work itself out. The council had been able to see that.

But this was different. The dog would always be a dog, and he would always be  _human_ , at least at his core. In all the ways that  _mattered_ when confronted with such things. One day, Claire would be old enough to know what had happened, and to make her own decision about what she wanted to do about it. The dog would never understand, never be able to think for herself, would never be  _human_.

"You don't understand," you choke, face feeling hot.

"Jacob..."

"This is different," you say flatly, tears beginning to prickle at the corners of your eyes. "Dad - I don't know what to do."

"Come here, son," he sighs, holding out his arms. You oblige, sinking to your knees and letting your head fall into his lap, not caring that he's petting you like a dog. You almost wish you were one, at this point.

***

 The next few days are hard, but you manage to avoid both the dog and spilling your secret. The former has been spending all its time at Sam and Emily's, and the latter has been kept carefully in your own mind, through means of running like hell when people start to ask questions and avoiding being in your fur at all, if there's any chance someone else might be, too. Of course, this has led to no little amount of suspicion from your friends, family, and packmates. Everyone's worried, and you suspect that Billy has confided in Sam - who, in turn, must have confided in the pack (willingly or not) - that you've imprinted. Badly.

It's especially clear when  _Quil_  finds you on the beach with little Claire in tow and a not-so little speech about acceptance and perspective. (It begins: "You know, I wasn't too pleased when I imprinted on Claire, but I've come to accept and even appreciate it with a little perspective!" and does not get any more subtle from there.)

"Save it, Quil," you mutter, cutting him off. "I don't want to hear it. This is different, okay?"

"So... you  _have_ imprinted?" Quil asks hesitantly, clearly torn between disbelief, commiseration, and something a lot like happiness. Of course, he  _would_ think it's a happy occasion. Claire was the best thing about his life, nowadays. It'd torn him up at first, but with a little  _perspective_ , he'd been able to  _accept_ his condition and grow to love Claire the way she needed. Caring for her was what he lived for. Yeah, you've just heard the whole spiel, not that you hadn't known before, since - yeah - you often share a head with this guy.

"Yeah," you say shortly, not meeting his eye.

"That's... I'm sorry, man. About Bella - but she needs you a lot more as a friend than she does as something else," he assures you, and that's part of it, you guess. Part of it is worry over what will happen to Bella without you, and Quil's right. You can still be her friend. It makes you feel a little bit better. But that's not all that's going on, and the majority of your problems are still intact. Quil seems to sense this and presses on. "And I meant what I said. About Claire, y'know? She's amazing, and imprinting is amazing, even when it's not quite what you'd've expected."

A flash of anger makes you grit your teeth. "It think this is a little worse than that," you say testily, throwing a needlessly hateful look at the little girl, who immediately starts crying. Of course, Quil is quick to come to her defense.

"Lay off, Jake," he says angrily, swinging the little girl into his arms and attempting to soothe her.

" _You_ lay off!" you shout back, hands balled into angry fists. "You don't know the first thing about my problems and I don't need to hear it! You think I don't know about imprinting? I've seen it over and over again, and this is still just  _bullshit_! I don't care if you're happy, I don't care if Emily and Sam are happy! I will  _never_ be happy about this!"

"You need to calm down," Quil hisses, covering Claire's ear with one hand and holding her close against his chest.

"How am I supposed to calm down when I've imprinted on a fucking  _dog_?" you ask, voice cracking at the end as all anger goes out of you. That same cool resignation you've been feeling the last couple of days flows through you once more, and you sit shakily on the sand, bracing your elbows on your knees.  _It's over. They'll all know by morning_ , you think, staring uncomprehendingly out into the waves.  _What's going to happen to me, now?_

"Jake..." Quil breathes, sounding about as shocked as you've been. He stops there, because there's really nothing else to say, and sits down beside you. "Jake... shit, man. That's..."

They're quiet for a long time, listening to the sound of the waves and Claire's idle chatter. It feels  _better_ , maybe, now that someone knows. Now that you're not keeping it a secret - at least from the pack. Worrisome thoughts are still on your mind.  _What is my dad going to say? How am I going to tell Bella?_ But the biggest concern - and it's been pushing at your conscience for quite some time now - is how the dog is doing.

"How is she?" you eventually ask, picking at the sand beneath you. Quil doesn't ask who you mean.

"She's doing fine, man. They got her cleaned up after you left, and she's been hanging out at Sam and Emily's. They let her inside, but she likes to be outside more. She's been putting on some weight, too, and Emily says her cuts are healing just fine. Uh... Paul's calling her Alligator, now. Cause she kind of bites people, man. She bit Bella, actually. Not hard, but... She's not too crazy about taking the dog home anymore. Leah likes her, though."

The thought makes you chuckle, and a bit of the pressure on your chest seems to alleviate. Not mostly, though.

"How are you doing, man?" Quil asks, peering at you almost shrewdly.

You hesitate, not sure what to say now that you're being honest. "It hurts," you decide, going with the most dominant feeling. It  _did_ hurt. More than you'd been acknowledging. More than you'd thought it would. More than it'd seemed to hurt when Quil had been avoiding Claire, and you wonder if  _anyone_ could understand this kind of pain, because  _you_ barely do. Maybe Quil'd been feeling a lot more than you'd been able to tell over the pack bonds, and maybe Leah is more hurt than the pack knows. Maybe Sam is more bitter, maybe more in love. Maybe you don't know as much as you thought you did. "It hurts, and... nothing makes sense anymore."

Quil just nods, and Claire looks between the two of you with a bored look on her face. "Shit," she exclaims, waving her arms to get her imprint's attention. You roll your eyes as he begins to fuss over her, begging her not to repeat the word around her aunt or her mommy.  _Imprints_ , you think to yourself, bidding the duo a quick farewell and wandering away. Maybe it's time you got back to yours.


End file.
